Fortune's Bride (34 page)

In addition, Merry’s work as a translator would mean they
would be together much more. Busy as he had been, they had hardly seen each
other since Sir John’s appointment as commander. To Robert’s mind, anything
that forwarded the successful prosecution of the war was of greater importance than
the inclinations and pleasures of any person.

Thus, although he was aware of his ulterior motives,
Robert’s conscience twinged only slightly.

Although Esmeralda’s help did not really produce any better
results than Robert had obtained on his own—the Portuguese were ignorant of the
roads and available supplies in their countryside—she was so thrilled by being
employed in a useful capacity that his remaining guilt was assuaged. Moreover,
he found her infinitely capable in many other ways. He discovered that she had
a remarkably good head for business, far better than his. She could keep
accounts and would certainly have made a better commissariat officer than those
presently employed by the British army. Sir John, learning of Esmeralda’s
expanding activities, was at first slightly shocked, however, her enthusiasm
disarmed him and prevented him from reprimanding Robert, and he very soon
became accustomed to, and even depended on, her efficiency.

Thus, at the end of October, when the army began to move, it
took very little to convince Sir John not to oppose Esmeralda’s stated
intention of traveling with them.

To Robert’s surprise, he had received no answer to his
letter home. At first he had felt only relief, assuming that its arrival had
been delayed and that he would have a reply in good time. Then, between the
fact that he was busy and that Esmeralda seemed so content, he had almost
forgotten having written. Finally it occurred to him that either his parents
were showing their displeasure by refusing to answer him, or, what Robert
preferred to believe, his letter had somehow been lost.

In either case, he was in a quandary. He could write again,
giving a fuller explanation that would absolve Merry of anything other than
misfortune, but it was really too late for an answer to his second letter to
arrive before they moved. And without a direct invitation from his parents,
Merry would be afraid to go alone to England. Perhaps since he did not speak
Spanish or have any particular knowledge of Spain, it was his duty to ask for
leave from Sir John to take his wife to safety, but Robert did not want to miss
the campaign, and from day to day he delayed his request for leave.

Before Robert had come to a decision, Esmeralda had taken
matters out of his hands. Quite casually on the day after the first units of
the army had marched east, as if the question of whether she would be
accompanying Sir John and his staff had long been settled, she had asked Sir
John whether it would be necessary for her to hire servants or whether she
could continue to use M’Guire and his wife. The phrasing of the question,
implying as it did complete familiarity with an army on the move, did not
invite expostulation on the difficulties and discomforts of the journey, and a
few more exchanges settled everything. One man more or less in a unit could
make little difference. Sir John wrote a request that M’Guire be detached to
act as Robert’s batman, and Esmeralda’s continued presence became an accepted
fact.

As the army struggled toward Spain, there were so many
difficulties that the presence of a woman who made none sank into
insignificance. Because of the insufficiency of the roads and supplies, Sir
John was forced to divide his forces and send General Hope with five brigades
of artillery and four regiments of infantry the long way around by Elvas to
Badajoz and Espinar and so eventually to Salamanca, where Sir John and the
remainder of the army would, hopefully, be waiting. Meanwhile, the British
government had dispatched another fifteen thousand men under the command of Sir
David Baird. These troops were to be put ashore at Corunna and would move south
through Galicia also to rendezvous with Moore at Salamanca.

It was all very easy on paper. However, the contract to
provision the troops was not honored and the Portuguese outside of Lisbon
refused to take either British government promissory notes or even paper money
in exchange for supplies. This put a serious strain on the British army’s
exchequer and nearly wiped out the fund of gold and silver coins with which
Robert had provided himself. Still, the march through Portugal was not too
difficult. For Esmeralda in particular it was actually pleasant. She suffered
none of the doubts and uncertainties that had plagued her when she first
accompanied the army. She knew how to find her quarters and how to make them
comfortable most efficiently. Carlos, Molly, and M’Guire knew their duties and
worked well as a team. There was a good deal of rain and cold, but Robert had
had the foresight to buy her a very warm fur-lined cloak, and a broad hat and
oiled silk overgarment kept her reasonably dry.

There was only one worry that prevented Esmeralda’s
contentment from being complete. Robert was not quite as happy as she. He was
not overtly bad tempered or miserable, but there seemed to be a cloud over his
sunny nature. Esmeralda tried to explain it away by attributing it to the
difficulties in provisioning the army and news from Spain, all of which was
bad. The junta of Corunna was totally uncooperative about assisting the British
in any way. Unfortunately, Esmeralda could not convince herself that Robert’s
trouble really had anything to do with his duties. Too often there was doubt in
his eyes or a frown on his brow when he was looking at her and did not know she
was watching him.

Actually, Robert was more puzzled than unhappy, but he was
not accustomed to feeling any doubts about life. From childhood he had been
sure of what he wanted to do and the right way to do it. Now his relationship
with Esmeralda was making him uncomfortable. At first it had been right. He had
done his duty to succor a distressed British gentlewoman, and Merry had
responded in a sensible way. But since then everything had become very
complicated.

Why in the world had he permitted her to come? Two words
from him to Sir John would have prevented her accompanying them, but he had
said nothing. Why? Well, he knew the answer to that. He had wanted Merry to be
with him. But why? He had never felt that kind of need for any person before in
his life. When he had gone to school and later into the army, he had missed his
family, but he had never manufactured reasons to keep them near. Over and over
Robert raised the same questions and found no answer, until the afternoon of
November 13 when they had reached Salamanca.

Directly after arriving at his headquarters, Sir John had
written a long letter to Sir William Bentinck in Madrid, who was acting as
minister from the British Court. He had described the difficulties facing the
British forces and, under the circumstances, the impossibility of their
achieving what the Spaniards seemed to expect of them. Then, worn out with
worry as well as work, he had dismissed all but two of his staff and had lain
down to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Robert and Major Colborne were thus alone in
the staff room.

Having finished his copy of Moore’s letter, Colborne sighed.
“It’s damned unfair,” he said. “Every time they give Sir John a command, it’s
already a lost cause.”

Robert shook his head. “I hope they shoot Burrard and
Dalrymple.”

“What, shoot the white-haired boys of the Horse Guards? The
absolute proof that seniority is the one and only qualification for command?
No, they won’t do that,” Colborne retorted sardonically.

“Besides, Sir Arthur is involved, and he doesn’t deserve to
be blackened. He should never have signed that thing.”

“He was ordered to sign it,” Robert pointed out. “Anyway,
once the opportunity of catching Junot while he was trying to control a rout
was lost, getting the French out by convention was really best.”

“Not with the provisions agreed to,” Colborne said dryly, to
which Robert shrugged. “Besides,” he went on, “the Convention has nothing to do
with our troubles right now. It’s the damned Spaniards. For them, everything
can be done
mañana
. They want us to push ourselves between them and the
French, but they won’t supply us with food or transport, or tell us where the
hell
they
are or what they plan to do.”

Robert shrugged again. “I’ve told Sir John he can’t trust a
word they say. It’s not only stupid, it’s dangerous to lie to a military ally.
The Portuguese are sometimes damned ignorant, but they mostly mean well and
they’ll tell you they don’t know. The Spanish are liars—well, not the
people—it’s the government.”

“But we’ve got to have information about what’s going on in
the country…” Colborne let the words fade out. Robert knew what he was about to
say as well as he did.

He rose a little stiffly, for they had been riding all
morning, and moved to a more comfortable chair near the fire. A rather
discouraged silence remained. Both men were very fond of Sir John and could see
that he would be blamed if the army were defeated and forced to retreat. The
Tory government, which disliked him on principle because he was a Whig, would
not be willing to admit that they had been led down the garden path by Spanish
lies. It would be politically expedient to make Sir John the scapegoat. Worse
yet, he knew it, and it was draining his confidence.

After a few minutes Colborne yawned. Naturally, Robert
echoed. They were both tired, too. Colborne blinked his eyes exaggeratedly and
screwed up his face, then yawned again. If it had been night, he would have
allowed himself to drowse in the chair, however, since it was afternoon and
they had only just arrived, there was a good chance that messages or visitors
would appear despite their having gone through a formal welcoming. It would not
do, Colborne thought, to have the Spanish discover only two sleeping men in Sir
John’s office.

“How does Mrs. Moreton like your quarters?” he asked Robert,
more for something to say to keep them awake than for any other reason. To his
surprise, a black frown spread over Robert’s face. “If she is not comfortable,
I am sure we could find something better for her,” Colborne added anxiously.
“We are likely to be here for some time, a week or two, at least.”

“Oh, Merry never makes a fuss,” Robert replied, but the
frown only grew more marked.

Colborne looked at him uneasily and said tentatively, “You
are very fortunate to have found a wife like Mrs. Moreton. She is a woman of
the greatest intelligence and easiest temper and has been of considerable
assistance to me.” Then he smiled and, trying to lift Robert’s spirits, said,
“I wish I had met her first.”

“Apparently so does every man in the British army,” Robert
riposted sourly.

“Good God,” Colborne exclaimed, “you can’t think Mrs.
Moreton has ever given the slightest—”

“No, no,” Robert interrupted. “Merry’s good as gold.”

There was a pause, and Colborne finally said, “We’ve known
each other a long time, Moreton. I don’t want to intrude, but if there’s
anything I can do to help…”

“God damn it!” Robert exploded. “How can I ask for help when
I don’t know what’s wrong?”

But the very word “wrong” had been an admission, a
confession of uneasiness and discomfort he had not openly avowed before now.
The quiet intimacy of the situation and the knowledge of Colborne’s complete
trustworthiness were also inducements to the unburdening of Robert’s heart.
Before he knew what he was about to do, he had confessed the whole story, not
only the actual events but his feelings and his confusion about the
relationship.

Somewhere about the middle of the tale, Colborne had risen
to his feet and walked over to lean on the mantelpiece and stare into the fire.
When he moved, Robert hesitated, wondering if he was exposing overly personal
matters and causing Colborne discomfort, but he needed desperately to talk to
someone, and a single, rather muffled word of encouragement started him off
again. He found himself able to talk even more freely now that his friend’s
eyes were not on his face and was grateful, believing, because he wanted to
believe, that that had been Colborne’s intention in moving away.

In fact, although Colborne would gladly have spared Robert
any embarrassment, he had not been considering his comfort. He was thinking
only of hiding his own expression because he was trying hard not to laugh.

Like all of Robert’s friends, he was familiar with Robert’s
struggle to avoid female entanglements. A young man who does not wish to be loved
obviously is not likely to fancy himself in love. Moreover, Robert’s
single-minded preoccupation with military matters had precluded interest in
novels describing the tender passions and the effects of love. All in all,
Robert was totally ignorant of the subject. Having married as he did, without
desire or even thinking of Esmeralda as other than “a distressed citizen”, it
had simply not occurred to him that he had fallen in love with her.

“So you see,” Robert concluded, his voice both angry and
exhausted, “I’m behaving in a completely irrational way. I can’t imagine what’s
wrong with me.”

“Nothing much,” Colborne remarked after a little silence
indicated that Robert had no more to say. “You’re in love with your wife,
that’s all.” His voice was quivering with suppressed mirth, but fortunately
Robert was so stunned by this pronouncement that he did not notice.

“But she isn’t even pretty!” he exclaimed, voicing the only
idea he had ever had about love, which was that it was engendered by feminine
beauty. Then he added doubtfully, “Is she?”

It was too much for Colborne, who gasped and choked, “Not
beautiful, perhaps, but very attractive and charming.”

“Are you laughing at me?” Robert asked, standing up
abruptly.

“I am very sorry,” Colborne exclaimed. “I assure you I do
not find your…er…problems amusing. It is only your…ah…”